The Spectacular Spider Gwen: Responsibility
by Mengsk
Summary: What if...? Gwen Stacy has been bitten by a genetically engineered super-spider and has been transformed into the Spectacular Spider-Girl. However, she is yet to learn about responsibility. Can a killer help her find her destiny?
1. Ch 1: Kicking It Off

Author's note: I'll be honest. I'm not sure where I'm going with this. Even as far as the next chapter. Totally winging it. And don't be expecting a quick update; I have exams, a job and another half finished story to juggle.

**Disclaimer: I do not own Spectacular Spider-Man™ or any character, location or event from that said show. I do own a surprising amount of socks, most seemingly without partners. **

Spider-Gwen

Ch 1: Kicking It Off

The ball sailed out of the warm sun. The crowd in the bleachers went wild as she leapt, putting herself between the black and white patch sphere and her opponent, intercepting it for the home team, allowing to bounce off her chest to land at her feet. Her opposite tried to block her path, attempting to kick the ball out from between her legs. It was no trouble to twist past; they were almost moving in slow motion.

It was the final few seconds of the game. They needed just one more goal to win. She approached the net, dribbling the ball out in front of her. The anticipation in the bleachers was electric as almost the entirety of the opposing team moved to block her path. They would not stop her. She was too fast for them; feinting left while spinning right, slipping the ball through an opponent's legs to recover it on the other side, jumping over a sliding kick. More were running to put themselves between her and the goal, but for this one instant she had a window. A direct shot at the net with only the goal keeper to stop her, and Gwen was confident she could bend the ball around their head and hit the corner. She raised her leg back for the kick….

She felt a cold tingling in the base of her skull. Her eyes widened. Like a cliché horror film she _knew_ there was malevolent force behind her.

Reacting superhumanly quickly, Gwen shifted her weight to lesson the impact but continued with the kick. It launched toward the net an instant before an unfriendly shoulder impacted between her shoulder blades. There wasn't much force to the blow. At least not so much as she could take now. Nonetheless, the brick wall routine may arouse suspicion, and she was only standing on one foot. Ultimately it was easier, both now and in the long run, to work with the flow of kinetic energy to push her forward into a soft landing on the grassy football field. Her outstretched arms took the force of the fall, not enough to even graze her pinky.

Her re-adjustment of stance and impact from an opposing player affected at the instant she kicked affected the flight of the ball. Its flight path veered a little more to the left than she had intended. The goal keeper was quick on their toes; stepping, leaping, reaching for an intercept the moment Gwen's toes kissed the ball. The quick reaction and miscalculation on Gwen's part paid off. The ball impacted the keeper squarely in the right shoulder, deflecting it away from the net.

The final whistle blew.

**

"Anika!" Coach Curran yelled, stalking across the field.

Anika covertly scowled at Gwen on the ground like she was an insect (secretly closer to the mark than Gwen wanted known), mentally blaming her for being caught pulling a fowl. As if it was Gwen's fault she 'tripped'. Some hidden smirks around the pitch revealed not all the girls considered it a foul.

Curran disagreed, vocally. "Pull a stunt like that again and I'll have you off my team! Now go cool off. Think about whether you want to remain a part of team."

"You alright Stacy?" Curran asked as Anika trudged off. Her tone was concerned.

"Fine coach," Gwen nodded, proving it by standing up unaided and jumping twice on the spot to shake herself up. Curran wasn't initially convinced, warily watching for a tough girl act. Soon deducing that Gwen was indeed alright she returned to her gruff Coach demeanour.

"Good. Next time you might try_ passing the ball_! You had half the opposing squad blocking you, everyone else was wide open!"

"Sorry coach. I got carried away."

Sheepishly, Gwen looked around and saw the coach was correct, and that it wasn't just the opposing squad that had been glad to see her take a hit.

"I have no time for sports stars on my team. Start playing with your head instead of your ego," Coach tapped her forehead to emphasis the point. "Now everyone else, practice over. Go get changed and go home!"

By the goal net one of the girls helped the goal keeper up. "Nice save!"

"_Ah-ow_, I wish I missed it. Going to leave a massive bruise."

Peter Parker, Gwen's best friend since – forever – waited in the bleachers, the sole observer. Perhaps not as wildly enthusiastic as she had imagined when she intercepted the pass, now his brown eyes were looking at her with great concern, and she silently thanked him for it.

"_Are you alright?!_" he asked, jumping down form the stands and holding her by the elbow. "You looked like you got hammered."

"Not hammered, no! Just – surprised."

"She tackled you…!"

"I'm fine," Gwen quickly protested. "It, um.… It was a glancing blow and I rolled with it, you know. Lesson the impact. Besides, she couldn't tackle an old lady, her centre of gravity was way off."

Peter seemed to accept her dismissive explanation and relaxed his hold on her arm. Gwen was relieved he let the incident, and the discrepancy between the vicious attack he saw and her demonstrable lack of injury, drop. Still, as he let his arm drop and the caring concern left his eyes Gwen wondered if shouldn't have played up her hurts after such a heavy blow. _Maybe faked a limp_ a voice deep down suggested. Unfortunately Peter had moved on to other topics before she had the chance to consider it.

"Alright. Good, and you know, wow! Before that you were amazing, you must have dodged past four or five girls; and they've been playing this game for most of their lives! I was sure you were going to get a goal."

Gwen mentally kicked herself. _I have to stop showing off when Peter's watching._

"Yeah, well. They were just the B team."

"Well, you've gotten pretty good this past month. I mean when you started you could barely let go of the ball."

…

_Flashback - Gwen's first soccer tryout._

_Gwen tenses as a yet still unfamiliar tingling feeling warns of danger. The ball is flies high across the field, seeming to have a lock on her forehead. Gwen reacts, her hands rise to protect her face._

_Coach Curran's whistle blows, "Hand Ball!"_

_Gwen silently curses and tries to pass the ball to a member of the opposite team. It won't dislodge._

_She tries to shake her hand. The soccer ball clings stubbornly to her palm. She uses her other hand to pull the ball off. It now affixes itself to this hand._

_Other players watch on, baffled by Gwen's trouble releasing the ball._

...

"Yeah, I honestly think it was residue from that liquid cable project you were working on."

"Here," Peter passed her belongings to her; school bag, an orange coloured hooded jersey and her glasses.

"Yeah, um," Gwen feigned retrieving an inconsequential memory. "I left the contact container in the locker room…."

Peter shrugged. "Makes sense, you only wear them when you're playing sport. I'll wait."

"Thanks."

Gwen took her belongings and headed for the locker rooms.

**

The sign on the outside of the building read _Transient's Welcome_, though he doubted they would welcome spending time in this dump. The room was barely wide enough to contain the bed. The sink dripped, the curtains looked to have been burned in times previous – at least the train didn't run past his window. No, that was the other side of the building.

The room was dark though the light-bulb was not blown. The man chose to sit alone in the dark, shivering from the cold, turning a nine millimetre semi-automatic pistol over in his hands. It had been a month since that terrible night when he risked holding up a local wrestling business. He had attempted to take a car from a man parked in the street. He was scared. He had this gun. It went off.

Now Walter Hardy sat alone in the dark, letting the tears streak down his face.


	2. Ch 2: Fresh Socks

Author's note: Well, I did warn you not to hold your breath for the next chapter. I'm still not quite sure where I'm taking this. I do know I want to do it right!

**

* * *

**

Disclaimer: I do not own Spectacular Spider-Man™ or any character, location or event from that said show. I do have – A ticket to the Hokitika Wild Foods Festival. Where I shall be drunk and merry and gorge myself on wild pork ribs (and NOT on chocolate covered Beatles)!

* * *

Last Time on Spider-Gwen

- Gwen is none too subtle with her abilities on the soccer field.

- Walter Harding commits the greatest mistake of his life.

...

Ch 2: Making Plans

"Gwen? Home?" Captain George Stacy called as he pulled his key out of the door.

"Here Dad!" Gwen replied from the Kitchen. George found her parked at the dinner table, surrounded by science books beyond his mere mortal comprehension.

'_Nothing new here_.'

In times past he had pondered when his daughter had surpassed his own reading level. How had he not noticed? Was it during the lengthy and fierce divorce proceedings with Gwen's mother? Or had his demanding job sucked his personal life into a vortex, drowning his connections to life outside the service?

Either way, his daughter had managed to achieve, and continue to achieve, great things all on her own. George was very proud of his daughter, if wistful of lost time and his failings as a father. By now he had quit beating himself up over the fact. Gwen is smart. He wasn't here. Life moves forward. The biochemistry books did not deserve a second glance.

Now the soccer! This was still fresh enough to stagger his mind. He did not like to admit he never thought Gwen had it in her. It just wasn't where he imagined her comfort zone to be. When had Gwen developed an interest in sports and had he, as her father, not been aware of it? He certainly had no legal battles to blame for his inattentiveness this time. Could she be reaching out to him? Trying to regain his attention? Trying to reconnect on a playing field he understood? Or was his thinking arrogant and Gwen wanted to play soccer for Gwen's sake?

This distance he felt sucked. And it wasn't about to suck any less.

"Chinese tonight?"

"We had Chinese last night."

"Chinese it is!"

Gwen rolled her eyes. A typical teenage mannerism, universal no matter their I.Q.

"I've eaten."

George shrugged and put the phone down. "Actually, so have I. Sorry, I honestly thought you would still be at Peter's."

"Michelangelo's helping his Uncle paint the kitchen."

"Ah."

He put the kettle to the boil and soon had a pair of steaming mugs of hot coco for them to enjoy. Gwen shuffled her books around on the table to make room and avoid spill damage.

"Whatcha' working on?"

"An extra credit essay."

Years of working with guilty young people had rewarded George with a sixth sense for when one was being evasive. The way Gwen shifted in her seat and refused to look up. Probably she didn't want to hurt his feeling. Talking to Gwen about advanced science could often make one feel small, even considering her aptitude for explaining concepts in layman terms.

"Well, what is it about?"

"Bio-engineering. The research of Dr's Kurt and Martha Conners. It's a follow up to the field trip last month."

Ah. That was why Gwen was being coy. She had been feverish for a number of days after the field trip. Bad re-action to an escaped spider's bite. The Dr's Conners had been cautious enough to admit her to the hospital for observation. It seemed she was never in any danger although, at the time, it was a nail-biting experience for George.

"How was soccer practice?"

"What are you leading in to?"

"What? I genuinely want to know!"

Gwen set down her laptops lid and waited him out.

"I genuinely want to know – although I do need to talk to you about the summer break next week."

"Science Camp," Gwen stated.

"You have options this year. You could try soccer camp." With far less enthusiasm he added, "Or, maybe your mother would like to see you."

"_If_ she can fit me into her schedule."

"I'm sorry honey. You know I can't be around during the day…."

"No Dad, that wasn't a shot at you."

The pair sat around their dinner table in silence for a moment. Taking sips of hot chocolate.

"You think about it and get back to me, ok? In the mean time, I want to hear how practice went."

Gwen inwardly groaned.

...

Even fugitives and murderers are required to do their laundry, least the cops sniff them out. Travelling light, with only a single change of clothes, it was inevitable Walter Hardy would stick his neck out of hiding long enough to use a Laundromat. This is where they cornered him.

Several thugs entered, taking positions around the shop. They relaxed against washing machines, sat down on empty benches; made no move to intimidate of any kind. Smiled pleasantly when patrons stared. Nonetheless the temperature seemed to cool and customers found excuses to leave. They filed past a flat-topped, pinstriped, brass knuckle wielding, Hollywood vision of a gangster if ever they saw one. Flat-top politely held the door open for stragglers, greeting each as, "_Mam_," or, "_Sir_," as they shifted uncomfortably past

Flat-top took a seat next to only customer remaining. Hardy ignored the commotion. As far as he was concerned his socks tumble drying was as an impressive display of artistry as he ever stole.

"You haven't paid the levy."

His deep voice alone would usually be enough to command attention. Hardy did not even turn his gaze.

"A little below your station, Hammerhead? Chasing up accrued revenue. Couple'o hundred. A petty amount."

"The Black Cat deserves more than a shake down from a punk. Consider me a proof of the Big Man's esteem."

Hardy took a wad of cash from his pocket and tossed it in Hammerhead's lap. The gangster didn't bother counting it. "I trust you."

"Anything else? Only, in my old age I've come to enjoy simple pleasures such as warm, fresh, clean socks straight out of the dryer. Pure luxury. And I don't need you hanging over my shoulder; ruining the satisfaction."

"Not how I imagined you took your thrills."

Hardy screwed his face, still staring into the dryer. He did not want to have a conversation with Hammerhead. He did not want to be reminded of past 'thrills.'

"Not as easy as it used to be," Hammerhead acknowledged. "You should get out. We both know it's a young man's game. A legend like The Black Cat deserves retirement. A modest villa in the south of France. Surrounded by his family."

Hardy spoke through clenched teeth. "If I could afford a villa in the south of France do you think I'd knock over a stupid wrestling venue? Waving a gun around like an idiot!?"

A hard edge to his voice was apparent. A great deal of pain.

"Maybe we can help you with that," Hammerhead remarked, holding out the wad of cash Hardy had just paid. Handing it back. "A retirement job."

"Young man's game, remember?"

"We can pass along a strong back or two. Can't promise college professors but they know their place. No strangers to a long job." He referred to a job involving advanced preparation as opposed to a snatch and grab.

Hardy allowed a dismissing snort. "Doesn't matter what experience they have. They'll never move like I did in my prime."

"Perhaps not. But up here, your mind," Hammerhead tapped his own flat-head skull," it still moves as fast as ever. Throw finesse out the window. The Big Man has so many more tools on offer."

Hammerhead and his posse left. Only now did Walter look up. Only now, all alone, did he turn pale.

Walter answered meekly, "No."

* * *

Author's Note: I have no idea what I'm going to have them steal. Or how, aside from I figure the Big Man's influence can get them close. Industrial secrets? A precious gem? A weapon? Big Man's MO suggests he cares solely for the wealth such an item could bring him.

So I ask you – Burglary of the century ideas! Target. Getting in. Getting out.


End file.
